


In Common

by JazzRaft



Series: In Weakness & In Strength [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 08:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16171526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/pseuds/JazzRaft
Summary: Prompto knows from his own experience that, when he messes up in a fight, it helps to have some photographic evidence that says the opposite. Turns out, he has that in common with Cor the Immortal.





	In Common

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted for an anonymous request [here.](http://jazzraft.tumblr.com/post/178678412937/your-in-weakness-in-strength-series-is)

Prompto would never describe himself as “good in a crisis.”

Sure, his Crownsguard training had remedied any lingering ignorance on basic first aid – though he’d had at least some practice before then, volunteering after school at his local animal shelter and helping strays off the streets. And besides that, he’d needed to learn a lot of things to take care of himself in the event of an emergency when absent parents weren’t there to save him from scraped knees and bad tumbles.

He knew how to properly apply a bandage to stem bleeding and protect from infection, knew how to make an emergency splint for minor fractures, and knew to elevate certain injuries to prevent shock, all before applying for Crownsguard training. After, he was taught how to tie a tourniquet for heavy bleeding, how to sterilize sharp objects for removing bullets or shrapnel or daemon claws stuck in flesh, and how to sew the right weave for stitching up big cuts on the fly.

In the event of an emergency, he had a sizable encyclopedia of practical knowledge to tap into and, hopefully, give an otherwise dire outcome a more positive prognosis.

All of that was good in theory…

But, as both he and a delirious Cor Leonis were both learning, was not such a smooth process when in practice.

“Okay, okay umm, just sit… like this – right? Right – and uh, stay awake! Stay awake by… talking, ah, well, you don’t talk much to begin with – period – so um, just concentrate on breathing or run drills in your head or… I know! You can tell me what I’m doing wrong!”

Because he was _sure_ he was doing a lot of things wrong right now. And while he wasn’t the most functional human being (though the subject of his humanity was debatable to begin with) when he was under pressure, he _did_ know how to take orders. He wasn’t built to be a leader, only ever a follower – maybe it was a problem in his programming that left him with a lack of initiative.

But! Now wasn’t the time to have a philosophical conversation with himself about who and what and why he was. Now was the time for him to take his own threat to heart and “put up or shut up.” So, he shut his mouth and he put up Cor against the stone-face bluff – and he double-checked his pulse to make sure his open eyes were actually functioning with life’s blessed sight and not staring at nothing in sightless death.

Cor was still with him – if for the moment. His pulse was charging like a frantic chocobo, skin hot and clammy under Prompto’s fingers. Though a helpful sign of life, it wasn’t exactly a comforting one, being that it was going at the pace of an expiration date.

Poisons and ailments chanced upon in the Lucian wilds were low on the table of contents in Prompto’s medical encyclopedia – woodland survival was Gladio’s expertise. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the luxury of more experienced professionals on hand at the moment. Nor did they have the added benefits afforded by store-bought antidotes for just such an emergency – they’d lost those when they lost the rest of their group in the skirmish, the more expensive curatives always left in the hands of the responsible parents of the group (aka Ignis and Gladio).

Prompto checked his phone one last time before finally accepting that battery power did not work in reverse if he stopped looking at it for long enough.

“State-of-the-art prototype of Gralea engineering and they couldn’t program a wireless battery charger,” Prompto muttered to himself, shoving the dead device in his pocket and scraping the barcode on his wrist against the denim.

“I don’t need your programming right now, Prompto,” Cor hissed. “I need your focus!”

“Right! Yeah, yes sir! Okay…”

_Water._ Water came first, and lots of it. He needed to keep the man hydrated and he needed to control the fever glistening in sweat-drops against his forehead. The thing about these animal poisons that they’d all noticed – each of them had been poisoned at least once since leaving the safety of the Crown City – was that they wore off over time. The trick was having enough strength to survive for as long as that took.

“We passed a river on our way here,” Prompto remembered. He darted to his feet and held out his hands. “Don’t move!”

Well, Cor couldn’t _really_ be dying that quickly. He had enough strength to wither away Prompto’s grip on mortality and light a fire under his ass too, with little more than a glare. That was always a good sign!

Two carry-on canteens of water and some drenched bandanas sacrificed from motley fashion choices later, Cor was less panty and more angry, his straight lance of perpetual irritation creasing across the center of his forehead. And he was coherent enough to assemble a decent enough sentence to tell Prompto why he was annoyed.

“I shouldn’t have put you in this position. The attack was easily avoidable.”

Prompto could have sworn he heard a phantom “ _I’m sorry_ ” at the end of that sentence – unless he was infected with a hint of that poison himself. Cor sat straight and sweaty, hours after their initial retreat sent them stumbling through the noonday shimmer of Leiden heat in search of sanctuary at the closest haven. His pulse had started to even out – Prompto constantly checked, contrary to Cor’s sharp insistence that he was fine now – and the worst of the poison seemed to be stuck infecting the Cor of two hours ago rather than the Cor of the hour now.

“It happens,” Prompto sighed, finally allowing himself to sit down on the warm song of Oracle runes keeping them safe as the sun went down. “You wouldn’t believe how many times we’ve had to do this for Noct already.”

He laughed before remembering that he was in a company of two rather than five, expecting Gladio’s rough, grumbling laughter of agreement and Noct’s indignant defense of himself as Ignis slid in merciless daggers of facts to the contrary. Cor didn’t find the plights of the Prince quite as amusing. Nor was he as forgiving of his own failures in battle.

“Think of it this way,” Prompto tried – anything to stifle the silence growing as night fell. “I owed you the help after you helped me out after the Bandersnatch. This is the universe’s way of squaring us away!”

A heavy breath dropped from Cor’s chest, the glassy chill of his eyes focused on the darkness beyond the haven, and the tiny campfire of dead grass and twigs Prompto had cobbled together as a signal to the others out looking for them. Prompto really didn’t know Cor in combat half as well as he thought he knew Cor in training drills. In practice, he had other fledgling Crownsguard to critique. In real-time, he had only himself to be critical of.

In that sense, Prompto thought he knew him pretty damn well. And if he was anything at all like Prompto – please, as if he could flatter himself with _that_ comparison – he needed something to prove he wasn’t as hopeless as he thought he was.

“Might be a while before they find us,” Prompto said, scooting up against the rock next to Cor. “This calls for some vegging.”

He pulled out his camera and powered it on, only a _little_ bit bitter that, between the two batteries that could have died, it had to be the one with a communication function that crapped out on him. His pictures stuttered across the digital screen, chance captures in-between the beats of combat he’d been teaching himself to time for the most dynamic shots without sacrificing someone’s health in the process.

He had a few photos from this last fight, some of Noct, most of Ignis – he’d been the last request Noct made to see more of – and good chunk of Cor – most war photographers were too intimidated to approach him for public photo ops; Prompto had to seize the opportunity to see him in action while he was along for the ride.

“More photos?” Cor grumbled, voice even rougher than usual from the hours of clenched-throat groaning to contain the pain.

“Yup! Don’t want to miss a moment. I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to get you for a reference.” Prompto faced a picture of Cor in the last fight towards him, a frozen model of a sweeping swordsman, cleaving through the tusks of the pack that had jumped them in the scrublands. “Not that I plan on picking up a sword any time soon, but, y’know…”

Cor lifted his chin in a nod, squinting through his exhaustion at Prompto’s sporadic documentation of the battle. He didn’t tell him to show him more, but the pointed stare, surveying the stance and slice of the sword, seemed keen on studying more. Prompto silently scrolled through the snapshots, letting Cor search for wherever he’d gone wrong, even though Prompto knew he wasn’t going to find it.

“And here’s juuust before that sneaky little bastard got the drop on you,” he said, lingering on the last picture before he dropped the camera and jumped back in to back Cor up.

It was a pretty epic shot – if Prompto did say so himself. A solid focal point with Cor standing strong in the middle, feet planted in the dust, two hands on the hilt of his sword, the long blade glinting red under the light of the magic flitting across the field off screen. Beasts framed him on all sides, some fallen, some poised for attack. And Prompto knew if he’d snapped one more, he’d have captured the clean arch of the sword through beast-flesh a moment later, killing all but that _one._

“Pretty epic, right?” Prompto said, trying to needle the barest thread of pride from the man for his own achievements.

It was hard to see, _barely_ even there – Prompto could have blinked and he would have missed it – but he _thought_ he saw the slimmest sliver of acceptance in the implacably cold stare of the Immortal. He didn’t get to dissect it for very long, before Cor jerked his chin again and said, “What else you got?”

_Plenty more proof_ , Prompto thought. _And it comes in black and white, too!_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please don't hesitate to let me know what you thought!


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